


I'll wait for you to learn to love to hate me

by VelvetDove



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Crushes, Emotional Hurt, Gay Komaeda Nagito, Gay Male Character, Injury Recovery, Loneliness, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Pining, References to Illness, Rejection, Self-Esteem Issues, Suffering Komaeda Nagito, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Whump, i'm not totally sure what that tag means, like help I can't stop thinking about these two, love-starved, so hopefully i'm using it right, that's an understatement when it comes to nagito lmaooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28126683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetDove/pseuds/VelvetDove
Summary: "There’s something different in Hajime’s face now, though. It’s an echo of the trial again, but it’s not anger or repulsion or fear; it’s pity, the soft edge of almost-heartache, and Nagito feels like he’s breathing in tar instead of air."There's nothing Nagito wants more than Hajime. That means he'll never have him.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 12
Kudos: 128





	I'll wait for you to learn to love to hate me

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Concrit is greatly appreciated - I love Nagito, but I find him incredibly difficult to write. If you feel comfortable, feel free to let me know what you thought of the fic and how it made you feel - it makes my day, but I also have trouble gauging my own writing because I'm stuck in the perpetual state of "haha this is dogshit"
> 
> This takes place after the first trial. I've only actually played up to the second chapter's murder and nothing beyond that. I wrote Nagito based on other fanfics as well as the stuff I've read on his wiki page about his personality and history (while trying very very *very* hard to avoid hard spoilers lmao) to get a better sense of him.
> 
> I know he gets tied up after the first trial but we're just gonna say that hasn't happened yet :')

He knows he isn’t entitled to the privilege of feeling hurt by the disdain that has wormed its way into their gazes. He knows he has cast himself out of a beautiful group and exists in a world where his death would be appreciated; a creature turned rotten, cloaked in the shadow of distrust. He doesn’t lay down at night to dream of pity. He doesn’t dare dream of impudence, the wish that they might stoop to understand him. When he sleeps poorly, or not at all, it’s because he’s remembered he’s just beyond death’s reach and it’s circling, slowly, watching him wait alone.

Knowledge doesn’t necessarily make these things easier.

He finds himself nervous as he walks to the door to answer the knock, wrought with brief undeserved anxieties that always flit and wither away each time he remembers he deserves whatever awful torment one of them may deign to inflict upon him. Though there are times he’s uncertain if they truly wish to go that far, or if it’s only the machinations of his own desires.

He _is_ certain, however, that the moonlight sculpts the shadows sharper across Hajime’s face. That the sky’s silver light works to enhance the wariness that whets his eyes as they cut into Nagito’s own. But Hajime’s hand is smeared and coated with blood, palm sliced open, oozing red and dark onto the stone pier below them, and that takes precedence over Nagito’s desire to pervert the intricacies of his unsteady relationship with a boy he thinks he’d like to call a friend.

“Hajime –” he starts, reaching for his hand, but Hajime pulls taut as if he’d like to back away and flinches his hand so it’s just beyond Nagito’s filthy, undeserving reach. “You’re hurt and you came here to _me_ , of all people, like you’ve forgotten just how inadequate I am, how completely _useless_ –”

“ _Just_ –” Hajime’s eyes squeeze shut as he draws in a breath and his jaw clenches tight, teeth grinding _hard_ and he exhales, “please stop doing… _that_.”

Nagito smiles his smile, but the way Hajime’s eyes narrow and his mouth twitches down makes something in his heart strain, but he doesn’t think about it because it’s not something he deserves to think about and it’s _exactly_ what he deserves to experience.

Hajime hunches in on himself inside the cottage, shoulders curved inwards and arms crossed, blood smearing along the forearm he grasps out of habit and there’s spots of crimson tracking out the door like a trail. Nagito wonders if somebody tried to hurt him or if _he_ tried to hurt someone else and he doesn’t ask - there are a lot of things he doesn’t always understand or read into, but Hajime’s stance is defensive like he wants to tuck himself as far away as possible from Nagito and his eyes are wide and unwavering with a threat that is clear-cut and simmering.

“Sorry about your floor,” he says. Something warm and dangerous coils in Nagito’s stomach - even in the presence of some _thing_ as lowly as himself, Hajime doesn’t have enough hateful apathy to sound as if he’s missing half his heart.

Hajime isn’t _cruel_ , of course. Nagito knows that. He closes the door and stretches his grin wider in a way he hopes might be endearing but clearly isn’t if the way Hajime flinches further away is an indicator of anything.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Hajime!” His hands sweep open and he lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug. “I’m more than happy to have _your_ blood smear and stain _my_ floors!” He feels he should stop here, that he shouldn’t have even _started_ , but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how _not_ to start or how to stop when he does and so he barrels on, “in fact, I won’t even clean the floors – I’m more than happy to let your blood seep and settle in the cracks and stay here _forever_ , if it means to keep just a _part_ of your greatness with me, if the worship and awe of some worthless thing like me –”

“ _Christ_ , Nagito!” Suddenly, Hajime’s unfolded and pulled himself straight, unfurling, ready to _strike_ if he needs to. “I came here because I knew you’d be awake and I need help with my hand and – and I wanted to check on you to see how you’re doing, because you _scared_ us and I’m _worried_ about you!” He’s looking at Nagito the same way he did during the first trial, when they _all_ realized Nagito is wrong, _sick_ , a waste of space. “But, if this is how it’s going to be, I can – I’ll go.”

It hurts _so_ much when Hajime looks at him that way.

Selfishness is a wicked impulse Nagito despises and yet he finds himself acting upon his own, reaching out to press a hand softly to Hajime’s chest when he attempts to get past him and out through the door.

“I’m sorry, Hajime.”

He doesn’t want him to go.

There’s a moment where he thinks he may have made the situation worse - Nagito’s voice rolls from his tongue with all its usual nonchalance tinged with underlying sarcasm and it _doesn’t mean anything_ , he’d like to say, _I just don’t know how to talk to you._

But Hajime eases, and allows Nagito to take hold of his bloodied hand.

Beneath the fluorescent bathroom lights, the blood swirls pink down the sink while he washes Hajime’s wound with cold water to slow the bleeding. Nagito struggles to keep his breath slow and steady, just shy of delirium from being so close to _him_ , from _touching_ him, and he fights the urge to stroke his thumb across Hajime’s knuckles like a gesture between lovers.

“I broke a bottle,” Hajime says, softly, “and tried to pick the shards up with my bare hands. Stupid of me.”

“Nothing you do could _ever_ be stupid,” he says, laughing, and somehow manages to stop it _there_.

They don’t talk much, otherwise. When the blood slows, Nagito presses a paper towel to the wound to dry it. He traces over the gash in Hajime’s palm gently, almost lovingly, and Hajime shudders out a breath.

Nagito’s the one to break the taut silence. “This’ll hurt a bit,” he says, reaching into the cabinet to pull out a bottle of peroxide, “but I know it’s nothing you won’t be able to handle.”

Hajime bares his teeth and hisses as Nagito pours the liquid over the wound, fingers twitching in pain but it’s not long until it's fizzing in the crevice of the wound. Nagito’s careful as he wraps the bandages around Hajime’s hand, finding himself unable to hold Hajime’s gaze when his eyes flick over to gauge him.

There’s something different in Hajime’s face now, though. It’s an echo of the trial again, but it’s not anger or repulsion or fear; it’s pity, the soft edge of almost-heartache, and Nagito feels like he’s breathing in tar instead of air.

_We investigated together. You were so kind._

He wants Hajime to succeed.

He wants Hajime all to himself.

He _needs_ Hajime to stop _looking_ at him like that. 

Nagito is dizzy, sick with wishes.

This must be why he acts so foolish, then. This must be why, when Hajime stands across from him in the small foyer that he asks for things he has no right to, implies that he is of enough value to take up more of Hajime’s time.

“Sometimes, it’s nice to have company when you’re hurt,” he says and he shouldn’t have, _he shouldn’t have_ , because he’s spiraling and he _can’t stop_ , “I can make you tea, or something to eat, and you can stay here, just for tonight and I promise I won’t try anything – you’re too _great_ and I’m too _lowly_ , you know that, and I understand if you don’t want to be sullied by my presence, but I –”

_Just want you to stay_ , he doesn’t say, because he has his answer already; it’s the way Hajime’s lips pull back into something that's not quite a snarl but certainly not a smile, the way his eyes widen and then narrow into something dark, fringed with regret and hurt and _desire_ before the door’s open and Hajime’s _gone_ so fast Nagito wonders if he was ever really there to begin with.

He listens to the sound of footsteps receding beneath the wind. In the quiet, he thinks of endless night skies, the fading memory of parents long-dead and the kind of melancholy that rises only in the silence and the dark.

Nagito is the wretched spectre of something that is barely a man, and there is no forgiveness for the things he desires.

It makes him _sick_.

Somewhere further down, the door to Hajime’s cottage shuts. The pain in Nagito’s chest is cold, grasping for his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I haaaaate how whenever I'm writing stuff like this I'll literally just be chilling and then my brain goes 💞 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒻𝓊𝒸𝓀 💞 like bitch can you shut up??


End file.
